Red fish, dead fish,
You will make a tasty dish.
Hatch a fish, catch a fish,
You will be delicious, fish.

A hook, a pole,
A roll of twine,
And, pretty soon,
You will be mine.

Butter sauce with lemon-lime,
Sage, oregano and thyme,
A lovely glass of cold, white wine,
A meal which will deserve a kiss.
I’d like to know, so I don’t miss,
Are there other words which rhyme with fish?

I strongly suggest you do not allow the fish to have the run of the house and to come and go as they wish and to do whatever they want because they generally become bored almost at once and just lie on the floor, flop around and die.

I certainly hope you don’t think I am going to write something cute and clever every time I post a scrap of art. No. I am not cute enough nor clever enough for that. Instead, I will probably do like everyone else and tell you the why or how. How is easy because I live in a forest and leaves are everywhere. Acrylic paint and ink. Why? Not because leaves are ephemeral, changing over the course of time. No. Because leaves spill over the two dimensional world into the three dimensional realm, into sculptural reality. Half fish out of water, half incredible mermaid fallen out of a tree, half fantastic fantasy, half incongruous, improbable, impossible, but, doesn’t the charm of the surreal lie in the unexpected?

How quick goes by a butterfly, and, why? You say you care, but you don’t know? Off to find a hidden rainbow? Maybe yes and maybe no. Gone, quick as a song, and long, before the end of days, before this leaf decays, before this fish has swum away, downstream, out of my mind, out of my dream. What does it mean?